the summer of
the monsoons
we were lying
in the flood plain,
blissfully unaware
of anything but
sun and
the light
of the universe
held right there
between
our tongues
and our teeth.

sudden dark,
the grey-sky
color of your
eyes and the
dryness in my
open mouth.
first the
splitting
then the
deluge
rising over
our two bodies.

is it the
ground’s fault
that it doesn’t
know what to
do with all that
extra weight
when it never
learned to carry
its own?

your mouth,
lips gasping
like a fish on
scorched earth.
i couldn’t
make out the sound,
but i think you said
“look,
how the water comes
without any warning
at all.”